This was written for a prompt on tumblr about Richard comforting Isobel and inspired by a snippet from the S4 trailer. I hope you like it.
He met her as he was walking home from the hospital. She was walking at a fast pace, at odds with the mellowness of the evening, striding quite angrily and paying little attention to her surroundings. Something was wrong, he thought, watching her. She had not noticed him at all, though by now he was standing still in the street, openly looking at her. Her black coat hung open, as if she had departed in haste without troubling to fasten it, and underneath he could see the dark purple of her half-mourning colours. He made up his mind then to speak to her; troubled as she was, she ought not to be left.
"Mrs Crawley!" he called, hurrying after her to her side of the street, "Mrs Crawley!"
Only on his second call did she make any sign that she had heard him. She looked around, confused and distracted by the sound of her name. Coming closer to her he saw that her features looked drawn and her eyes were bleary as if she had been crying.
"Isobel," he spoke to her more quietly as he stopped before her, hurriedly raising his hat, "Is everything alright?"
Though she stood quite still, he was sure she was trying her best to not allow her body to sway. She appeared exhausted.
"I thought you were at dinner with the family?" he asked her gently when she did not say anything.
"I was," she replied, "But I left. I-... I embarrassed myself. I started to cry at dinner."
Tears welled in her eyes, and he felt the urge to take her hand. He did not, worrying that it would frighten her.
"And they let you leave?" he asked incredulously, "Surely they-..."
"They were very kind," she replied, a little curtly, "Tom Branson in particular was very kind to me. But I-... I had to leave," she explained to him shortly, "I couldn't stand to be there any more. The whole place just reminds me off Matthew and-..." she broke off, her eyes narrowed and full of tears, "He suffered so much because of that family," she told him rather sharply, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Richard, but he did. And I-... I couldn't stand it. I had to get away."
He truly did not know what he could say to her. He did not know what to do.
"Do you want to be left alone?" he asked her.
There was a pause. Then she shook her head slowly.
"I'm glad," he replied, "I don't want to leave you alone."
"Richard-..." she murmured, "That's very kind of you, really. You don't have to."
"I do," he replied, "As a doctor, for a start, I can't leave you alone like this, Isobel. But as your friend, I'd never forgive myself if I did either."
She gave him a weak smile.
"Thank you," she replied. Her eyes closed and she let out a long sigh, wiping her eyes with her hand.
"Here," he told her, producing his handkerchief for her.
She took it, drying her eyes properly, sniffing heavily.
"Keep it," he told her when she tried to give it back.
She smiled again, tucking it into the pocket of her coat.
"Can I offer you a cup of tea?" she asked him, "For your kindness to me?"
"I'd like that," he replied, following her as she resumed a much slower tread towards Crawley House, "But you sit down and rest, Isobel, I'll make the tea."
"You know I'm not a great believer in rest," she told him, smiling rather wearily at her own self-criticism, "At least not for myself anyway."
"Yes, I know," he told her, "But you're worn out. Start believing in it, Isobel, please."
She stopped for a second, catching sight of the serious look in her eye, realising that he was not speaking lightly.
"I like to keep busy," she told him, looking ahead of them and not at him, resuming her pace once more, "It takes my mind off-..."
"Yes," he replied softly, "But one day business will no longer be enough or it will have to stop and you'll be left with only-... well,-... Forgive me," he finished at last, "I didn't mean to speak so coldly."
She had stopped again, her head bowed and her hand pressed to her mouth, physically trying to hold back a sob.
"Forget what I said," he told her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, "I shouldn't have, I wasn't thinking."
"But you were right," she almost choked out, trying to force normality into her voice, reaching for his handkerchief in her pocket and blowing her nose, "Really, Richard, don't be sorry for saying what we both know is true."
"But I've upset you," he protested, "I feel so stupid."
She tucked the handkerchief away, turning back to him, a brave face on once more.
"Don't," she told him, "Please, not for my sake. Let's just go and have a cup of tea. And we can talk, or not-..." she smiled wearily and he smiled back cautiously.
They were near to Crawley House now, and when they continued their walk it was with a much slower pace than before. He knew this place too must bring back memories of Matthew, but not the Matthew that he and the rest of the family had known; Matthew who was only her son, the Matthew only she had known. He cast a quick look at her face and knew then that he had done right not to leave her alone. He didn't want to leave her alone any more, and heaven only knew how is was going to when the time came. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it, it was her who needed him now. Every other consideration could wait.
"Richard," her voice came as they reached the gate, "Will you-...Will you hold my hand? Please?"
He understood perfectly, and without a second's hesitation slipped him palm against hers, wrapping their fingers together and giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
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